


Patience Is A Virtue

by aubreytruthfully



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreytruthfully/pseuds/aubreytruthfully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's back from Purgatory. He's different. But Sam? Something's wrong with Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience Is A Virtue

Dean was back; he was finally back. It didn’t matter how much things had hurt, because he could breathe again. The air was clean and his eyes didn’t ache from being forced not to blink. Of course, there was a lingering fear, lingering memories. But Dean could push those away. After all, he was back on earth and he could get to his Sammy again. That was what mattered.

Finding Sam was harder than he thought it would be. Dean couldn’t get him to pick up a single phone. Dean couldn’t figure out where Sam was. He couldn’t call Bobby and ask questions. Turns out, being gone for a year in Purgatory puts you in quite the bind when it comes to finding people. However, Dean knew that it wasn’t impossible, knew that he could find his brother. It took him a little while, but he used a variety of computers to his advantage (oddly enough using the things that Sam had taught him in the first place). With a little searching—okay, a lot—he figured out what town his brother was. And that’s where Dean headed.

Sam was working—at a motel no less—which was Dean’s first surprise. But Dean got a room there, and called to report a problem in the room. He figured that a little surprise might be good for Sam. Maybe he’d cry or something and Dean could attempt to fall back into their little give and take of teasing. Actually, Dean wasn’t quite sure how Sam would react. It had been a year, but things couldn’t have changed that much. Sam would still be Sam—maybe a little sad, tired, or lost—but still Sam. Dean would still be Dean—maybe a little broken, stressed, or jumpy—but still Dean. 

When a knock hit the door, Dean took a deep breath and felt a smile crawling onto his lips. He opened the door and saw Sam for the first time in a year. Sam was tall, like always, his hair had grown out and gotten some sun, and Sam was still strong, muscles apparent even under his shirt. He looked…good. Dean had expected someone a little bit rougher, but he hadn’t been here. Dean didn’t know what had happened on this side of things.

“They told me you were having problems with your lights?” Sam was holding a box that Dean assumed had tools in it.

“Sammy,” Dean grinned, pulling the giant down for a hug and holding on tightly. He waited for Sam’s arms to wrap around him too, but they didn’t. Shock, Sam was just in shock. “Been awhile.” Dean pulled away and his smile quickly faded. Sam looked at him, confused, as if he had no idea who Dean was. 

“Do I? Do I know you?” Sam took a step back from Dean.

“Sam,” Dean tilted his head, “it’s me. Dean. I’m back.”

“I’m sorry buddy, I guess I don’t remember you. Have you stayed here before?” Sam looked entirely apologetic, “A lot of people come and go, I don’t always remember everyone. Downside of working at a motel.”

“Is this a joke?” Dean felt like his heart was crawling right up his esophagus and trying to get out of his mouth. His world felt like it was shattering all over again. This was his Sammy, but it wasn’t. Sam would’ve never forgotten him—and definitely wouldn’t have played such a cruel joke on him.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam stepped into the room, “I hate when I forget. I’m extremely forgetful.” Sam pulled a chair over to the center of the room, “Is it this light? It’s given me problems before.”

Sam was being serious. He was completely lighthearted, but apologetic about the situation. He acted like he hadn’t spent the past year without his brother, his best friend, his everything—or maybe Dean had just assumed those last two things. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Sam was supposed to be shocked, cry maybe, hug him over and over again. They were supposed to click back together like two puzzle pieces. They were supposed to be who they used to be. Sam was supposed to be his again and he was supposed to Sam’s again. Everything was supposed to just work out and that’s not what was happening.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean felt lightheaded, so he sat down.

They made small talk. Sam told him about a dog he had and about this girl he was living with. Sam even made a comment that he didn’t know why he was telling Dean all of this, he just felt comfortable talking to him. Dean listened to every piece of information that Sam had given him. He was trying to put everything together, see what had happened, what went wrong. Dean would be lying if he didn’t mutter ‘Cristo’ under his breath or accidentally spill some holy water on Sam. But Sam just dried the water off his arm, said it was fine, and went back to work.

Dean stayed though. He stayed at the motel and watched over Sam, waiting for memories to come flooding back, but Sam just continued on with life. They started to become friends. Occasionally, Sam would stop by Dean’s room after he was done working and they’d drink a few beers, talk about things.

But it hurt. Everything hurt. Sam would talk about Amelia, how wonderful she was, how he thought maybe his life was going to settle in. He mentioned that he might marry her someday—he’d even thought about kids. Dean listened and nodded. Then Dean would walk Sam to the door, say they should hang out again, and he’d watch him walk away. Dean found out that even a year in Purgatory couldn’t prepare him for this kind of pain. He was losing Sam, or rather, he’d lost Sam. But it wasn’t just losing Sam, he was losing everything. The world was slipping out from beneath his feet because this wasn’t how things were meant to be. They were supposed to slip back into the rhythm of each other. Dean would fall asleep, sometimes he cried, and he’d struggle awake through the nightmares with no brother to comfort him. Sam didn’t hold him and tell him things were okay. No, Sam was too busy comforting Amelia and telling her that things were okay.

A couple months passed, and things got a little better. Sam came over everyday. They went out to a bar sometimes, or got something to eat. Dean had even went bowling with him. It all felt horribly domestic—but Dean secretly loved that part of it. Like tonight, they were sitting in the motel room, watching the game and eating from bags of fast food.

“I don’t normally eat like this,” Sam said through a full mouth. “You’re a bad influence.” He let out a chuckled after he swallowed his food down.

“I forgot that you were all about health foods,” Dean rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t forgotten. He remember how Sam used to eat salads, he remembered teasing him about choosing a turkey burger over a regular one, Dean remembered everything. It was Sam who had forgotten.

“Hey, I’m not the one who’s starting to get a belly,” Sam teasingly poked Dean’s stomach.

“Oh, don’t be such a bitch,” Dean said out of instinct, such an old instinct.

“Don’t be such a jerk,” Sam laughed and Dean immediately looked at him. There was a moment, just a fleeting second where it felt like Sam remembered. Sam looked at him with an odd expression, both of them silent. So many unsaid things hanging in the air. Dean’s brow was furrowed and his mouth hung open slightly. 

They sat quietly for a while; Dean wasn’t sure how long. It felt like hours, but was more than likely just a few seconds. He thought about breaking the silence, but couldn’t think of the words to say. Dean didn’t want to ruin the moment or stop Sam’s train of thought. What if Sam was remembering? What if Sam was finally going to snap out of whatever he fogged with? Dean wasn’t willing to jeopardize that, so he just sat and waited—stealing the occasional glance at his brother.

“Do you…” Sam trailed off, but Dean perked up and looked at him, “Do you ever feel like…No, it’s stupid.”

“Come on Sammy, you can tell me anything,” the sentence just slipped off Dean’s tongue.

“No one calls me Sammy,” Sam locked eyes with Dean.

“Sorry, name just slipped out,” Dean quickly apologized.

“No, I…I like it. You can call me that, you know, if you want,” Sam shrugged. It was quiet again, but not for long. Sam finally spoke up once more, “Do you ever feel like we’ve, I don’t know, known each other forever? Sometimes I just, I feel like I know you through and through, but that doesn’t make any sense…Sorry, I sound stupid.”

“You don’t sound stupid,” Dean shook his head. “I get what you’re saying. I feel that way about you too. Like…like I know you,” Dean did know him, “like you’re my best friend,” Sam was Dean’s best friend, “like we’re meant to be around each other,” Like they were meant to be together.

“Sometimes I have dreams,” Sam frowned, “I have these dreams about all these crazy things. Monsters and ghosts and death and sadness; nightmares. But I haven’t had them since you showed up. It’s just…weird?” Sam have him a questioning look.

“S’not weird,” Dean assured him. “How long have you been having the dreams?” Dean was hoping that maybe he could jog Sam’s memory or get him out of this spell or whatever it was that had made him forget. 

“About a year,” Sam took a drink. Of course, he’d been having them for about a year. 

Dean let things settle back into silence, but he sat closer to Sam. He smiled at the TV when he felt Sam rest his arm on the back of the couch, around Dean—it was familiar, something Sam had done a thousand times. When the game was over, Dean turned the TV off. He was waiting for Sam to get up off the couch, they’d say a couple goodbyes, mention hanging out again—maybe go to that bar this weekend?—and Sam would go back to Amelia. That’s what they did every night. However, tonight wasn’t every night.

“Thanks for the food,” Sam commented, but didn’t get up from the couch.

“No problem,” Dean nodded. He waited a couple seconds, but finally asked, “Not to pry, but what did you do before you started working here?”

Sam looked surprised by the question and then confused…and then a little scared. He swallowed thickly and made a little humming sound of contemplation. “Well, I went to Stanford for a while,” Okay, he remembered that much, “But my girlfriend passed away in a house fire, so I moved,” That wasn’t too far off—although Dean hated that he remembered Jess, that had been so painful for Sam.

“What about after that?” Dean tried to keep it light, “I mean, you obviously weren’t in Stanford until this last year,” He chuckled—or at least tried to.

“I drove for a while,” Sam made an expression like his head hurt, “I felt really lost, but somehow, I ended up here.” Well, that was the shortest version of Sam’s life that Dean had ever heard. 

“What about your family?” All right, Dean was trying now. He wanted to shake Sam’s memory. Although the second pained expression on Sam’s face wasn’t pleasant.

“Didn’t have a mom, Dad wasn’t around much,” he paused. “Man, my head is killing me,” Sam rubbed his temples. “I think I drank too much.” He laughed.

Dean let up; he didn’t want to hurt Sam. He never wanted to hurt Sam. Instead, he gave him a pat on the back. They’d hugged a couple times, and shared a few brief moments of contact, but it was never enough. It wasn’t like it had been. There was no holding or kissing. Dean didn’t fall asleep next to him. Dean never gripped his fingers tightly in Sam’s hair. Every moment of contact was limited.

“You know,” Sam licked his lips, “Amelia teases me that I have a crush on you.” He let out another soft laugh.

“Oh, if she only knew how serious we were about each other,” Dean teased, but there was a part of him that meant it. A part of him was bitter.

“Yeah,” Sam’s chuckle was soft and half-hearted. It made Dean wonder what was going on in his brother’s head. “It’s not like I talk about you that much at home anyways.” Sam shrugged.

“Exactly.” Dean wasn’t even sure what he was agreeing with.

“Hey Dean?” Sam looked over at him timidly, bobbing his foot against the floor.

“Yeah?” Dean sounded a little too eager, he was just sure of it.

“I…uh…” The sentence went completely unfinished because Sam had gripped Dean’s shirt and pulled him close. Finally. Finally, there was contact. Everything was tangible. Dean could feel Sam’s lips, his hands, his body heat. They were close again. When he thought that Sam might pull away, Dean just tugged him closer. If this was all he got for the rest of his life, he wanted it to count. Dean needed this. He needed to be able to remember this. Remember this one moment where it felt like things were okay again, that they were just themselves again. No Purgatory. No forgetting. Just them.

It was over too soon, but when they pulled away, Sam had this look in his eyes. He stared at Dean for an instant before ducking his head. “Sammy? I’m sorry…that was…” Dean suddenly wasn’t sure where he was going with that sentence, so he just stopped speaking.

“Dean…I…I know you. I know I do. I can feel it when I’m around you,” Sam stood up and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m going fucking insane aren’t I?” He looked panicked and frightened.

“You’re not insane Sammy,” Dean stood too, but didn’t let himself touch Sam. He refrained. 

“Then what is this?” Sam almost choked out his words. “Dean, I’ve been having these dreams for over a year. All these insane dreams. I’m hunting these monsters and ghosts and I’m never alone. Someone else is always in the dream…and I know them. It feels like it’s you. Like you’re the one who’s been in my head this whole time.” Sam turned away from Dean, like it hurt to look at him. “And then you asked me those questions…Dean, I don’t know what’s going on. I felt like I didn’t know how to answer them, like I didn’t know the answers. I’ve never felt like that. It feels like I can’t…like I can’t remember.”

Dean could hear the pain that was staining Sam’s voice. He wanted to offer some sort of comfort, but there wasn’t much that Dean could say. He couldn’t just tell Sam everything; this was obviously something that Sam needed to piece together himself. 

“And then there’s Amelia,” Sam finally turned back around and he looked absolutely wrecked. “I’ve never once doubted how I feel about her…but then there’s you. She knows. I can tell. She jokes about it, but I can hear the tinge of honesty in her voice. Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” His voice finally ended in a sob. Sam’s shoulders slumped forward and his hands went up to his face, hiding it.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Dean murmured, stepping closer to Sam. “You just, you don’t remember everything. That’s okay Sammy. I’m always going to be here for you…and,” he sighed, “obviously Amelia wants to be there for you too.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone. He’d never met Amelia—in fact, he was pretty sure she was rather nice—but he wasn’t very fond of her.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded. “Why do I know you?” He wiped roughly at his eyes and it made Dean’s heart clench.

“I’m Dean Winchester. I’m your brother, four years older than you, our mom died from a demon, our dad was a hunter who hunted the things in your dreams, your girlfriend died at the work of the same demon that killed Mom, and we went looking for Dad after that happened. We became brothers again…” Dean offered the only explanation he could, although he left out the whole ‘more than brothers’ thing. “Then Dad died, and things happened, they just kept happening. We got separated.”

“You’re…we’re…it’s you,” Dean watched his brother snap. Sam fell to his knees and let out a loud, crushed sob. Dean was immediately at his side, holding him from falling completely to the floor. He planted a hand in Sam’s hair and held him close. 

Sam cried. Sam cried for a long time. Sam cried until he couldn’t cry. Then Sam just sobbed with no tears, stomach clenching and body shaking. Dean let him. Dean held him. 

Seeing his brother like this made everything connect for Dean. There wasn’t any spell that had kept Sam from remembering. There were no tricksters or demons. No false realities. It was just Sam. A broken, tired, worn Sam. A Sam that couldn’t handle things anymore. Dean and Cas disappearing had shattered him. Dean could see that now. He could see how truly shattered his brother had become. He could see that Sam had repaired himself. Turned himself into something knew, something that didn’t hurt. Sam had put up his own wall, started over. Hell, Sam seemed like he’d done a better job putting up a wall than Death did.

When the tears finally stopped and Sam could breath again, they sat together on the floor. Dean still stroked his fingers through Sam’s hair and Sam still held onto Dean’s shirt tightly. Dean wasn’t going to push. He could wait.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice shook, “I remember everything.”

“I know, Sammy, I know.” Dean closed his eyes tightly to will away the tears.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” Sam shoved his face into Dean’s shoulder—even though it made him feel childish. “I couldn’t live without you.”

“It’s okay Sam, I know.” Dean rubbed circles on Sam’s back.

“Don’t ever leave again Dean,” Sam begged.

“I won’t, never leaving you again,” and Dean had no intentions to break his promise.

They continued to sit like that on the floor until Sam finally passed out from exhaustion. Dean held him, letting Sam’s limp body be propped up against his own. There would be a lot of questions and a lot of explaining. Things would probably hurt for a while. They would have to work through everything together, figure out things together, and relearn each other. Dean would have to help Sam remember the things that he had tried so hard to forget. It wasn’t going to be perfect by any means, but things had never been perfect for the Winchesters.

Dean could wait. Dean could be patient. Dean loved Sammy. Patience was a virtue that Dean supposed he could get better with.


End file.
